


A deeper understanding

by Lord_Risley



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, First Relationship, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, Lots of Angst, Lovliness, M/M, So much angst, past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-01-15 20:25:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 11,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1318054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lord_Risley/pseuds/Lord_Risley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something terrible haunts Sherlock and he'll never be free of it, not until he can learn to trust someone</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Work in progress. Still working on. Let me know your thoughts as they're really helpful :)

The room was dark. The only light came from a gap in the curtains letting in a dust filled beam of light. The room was quiet and peaceful save for the gentle breathing of two men.

John Watson lay asleep on the sofa. His head was leaning against the wall in such a way that was bound to be uncomfortable when he awoke. He was covered partially by a small tartan blanket that had obviously slipped in the night. Sherlock Holmes lay curled on the sofa with his head resting gently in Johns lap. His long legs were curled up tight to his chest and he looked too long to fit the small space he lay in.

Sherlock was wide awake having woken several hours before. He hadn't dare move for fear of waking John. He was also enjoying the peaceful serenity of the moment. He enjoyed the feeling of closeness to John knowing it would not last. When John awoke he would feel awkward and insist on conversations that Sherlock wouldn't follow or really understand. He knew how easily he could accidentally and unintentionally say the wrong thing. He liked the peaceful quiet of this moment where he could be close to John without having to articulate anything.

Sherlock lay still but comfortable until he heard John groan. He quietly and gently uncurled himself and left the living room.

John started to stir when he became aware of a terrible stiffness in his neck. He licked his dry lips and went to sit up. He was stopped by the terrible ache in his neck. He groaned and lifted a hand to massage his neck back to life. His throat was dry, his neck hurt and.....oh...oh! His eyes snapped open at the memory of the previous night which started to come back to him. He'd gone out with friends, yes he clearly remembered that bit, good. He'd drunk too much, yes he also clearly remembered that bit, not so good. He'd staggered home drunk and fallen through the front door giggling and dropping his chips all over the floor, well not too bad. Here it all became a little hazy. He struggled to get events in order in his mind. Sherlock had been talking to him about something, hmm more likely lecturing him about something. That sounded much more likely. He knew at some point he'd try to make something clear by jabbing a chip at Sherlock and shouting a bit and then.....There it was. The whole awful episode came back to him. He groaned again and ran a hand down his face.

He had been telling Sherlock about trying to pick up a girl in the bar only to find she was there with a friend. He'd managed to snog them both before losing them later that night. When Sherlock had looked disapproving he'd slung an arm around his shoulders and given him some awful parent style talk on how he'd find a nice girl someday and settle down. When Sherlock had tried to move away he'd held tightly onto him and given him a drunken snog on the cheek. Sherlock had gone stiff as a board in his arms, frozen almost as though he was scared of John. Being drunk as he was John hadn't let go and Sherlock had started to fight to get away. John laughing had tackled him to the ground and pinned him there laughing as he did so. Sherlock had looked paniced. There had been very real fear in his face but John simply hadn't seen it last night. He'd held him there for a few seconds before releasing him and heading to the kitchen. Sherlock had laid on the floor struggling to control his breathing. He had scrambled up when he heard John come back. John had flopped onto the sofa with a beer. He picked up the TV remote and started to watch a late night chat show. Within minutes his head had dropped back and he was snoring gently. Sherlock had stood there silently and absolutely still for a full 10 minutes before approaching the sofa. He gently took the beer from Johns hand and placed it on the table. He gathered the small blanket from the back of the sofa and placed it carefully over the front of John. He debated placing a pillow under John's head but decided this would only wake him. He had leant in to take the TV remote and John had stirred. He could now clearly remember Sherlock saying "All I could ever need is you John Watson" before leaving. John had fallen back to sleep and when he had Sherlock had crept into the living room and curled into the space around John. There he had stayed until he heard him John groan and he had got lightly to his feet and left.

John sat himself forward slowly. He couldn't process this all now. His head was banging, his mouth tasted like a pub ashtray and he ached everywhere. Also Sherlock was probably in the flat somewhere and he'd see him very soon. He didn't know what to address first. The harder he thought on it the more ashamed and guilty he started to feel. The look of fear on Sherlock's face was becoming burned into his mind. Why had he looked like that after....after what he said? He shook his head. It didn't really matter did it? The point was that he'd scared the other man. Not just scared him but terrified him. What had happened to make Sherlock react that way? John sighed. Like so much of Sherlock, his history was a total mystery to John.

John looked up and saw something to make him smile. There was a small tray on the table in front of him. There was a glass of water, two paracetemol, a steaming hot cup of tea and two plain biscuits. His mind went first to Mrs Hudson but then realised that was silly. Sherlock must have left it. He looked up but saw no sign of life in the flat. He reached for the water and tablets. This was such a kind simple gesture and it made his mind go back to where he didn't really want to go. "All I could ever need is you John Watson". Had Sherlock meant it? Did he just mean he didn't ever want a romantic companion? It all began to make Johns head hurt. All he knew was that even with all the awkwardness he desperately needed to apologise to Sherlock. He hadn't meant it but he had obviously crossed a line. He stood carefully and swayed there for a moment letting himself acclimatise to being upright. Right, Shower first, sober up, find Sherlock. It sounded nice and logical to John and so he staggered to the bathroom and set the shower running. Once he had stood under the scolding hot water for 15 minutes he felt decidedly better. The tablets had kicked in and he felt much more able to deal with the list of problems he needed to address. He pulled a towel around himself and walked out into the hallway and stopped. There was the unmistakable sound of Sherlock in the kitchen. He thought he was out, he thought he'd had time to plan his apology and....Oh God. He took a deep breath, lifted his head and marched into the kitchen.

Sherlock fixed his standard fake smile to his face and turned to look at John. "Morning......." The rest of the sentence died in his mouth. John was wearing a towel, only a towel. He took a step back and bumped into the kitchen counter. His plan to act normally and hope for the best died. He started to slide along the counter trying to create more space between himself and John.

John had watched as Sherlock's face had gone from his fake smile (Did Sherlock really think John couldn't tell after all this time?) to panic. He was trying to get away from him. From John. He took a step forward and saw Sherlock physically flinch. Dear God had he hurt him so badly? Scared him that much? He stepped back again and tried to keep  his voice calm and level. "Sherlock. I need to apologise. I am so very sorry. I was drunk and messing around and I would never hurt you in any way and I need you to know that, please"

Sherlock didn't move. He heard the words and he heard the sincerity behind them but he didn't move, He couldn't.

John watched Sherlock and saw him relax a tiny bit. He stopped moving away from him which was at least something. He took a very slow step back again. "I'm going to go put some clothes on. I'll come back and I'll sit right here" He points to the kitchen chair furthest from Sherlock. "You can sit in the living room if you want but please stay. I need to talk to you". He turns and walks away toward his room.

Sherlock watches John leave and relaxes. He doesn't mean to make John feel guilty, he really doesn't but he can't seem to help it. He walks slowly back to the kitchen and sits in one of the chairs. He knows John would never intentionally hurt him. But he also knows what John is capable of. It's partly what drew them together all that time ago. He knows John wouldn't hurt him on purpose but he also knows he could hurt him. He also thinks he knows that John heard. He had not meant for that to happen and it had been so very stupid of him but the way he's acting? He must have heard. He must steady himself. He knows he must steady himself. He can't keep jumping every time  John is in the same room! It's ridiculous and it's weak of him. He is not weak. He isn't. He can't be. His mind wanders to the tin that he hides in his room. He hasn't been near it for months but now the need gnaws at him as he sits waiting for John. He chews on his thumb as he debates whether to get up or not. Because he knows once he's stood up he'll go through with it. He's almost out of his seat when John reappears in clean jeans and a jumper. He wills himself to calm down and breathes slowly, purposefully.

John walks slowly into the kitchen. It's obvious that Sherlock is still very much on edge and he needs to be careful, very careful. It's his fault after all that they're in this situation. He stands awkwardly away from the table. "May I?" he asks. Sherlock nods wordlessly. John sits down keeping his movement deliberately slow. He thinks very carefully before starting to talk. "Sherlock. You are my best friend. I never, ever meant to hurt you or make you feel uncomfortable. I know it's a cliché and an excuse but I was drunk. I promise you that I will never do that to you or put you in that situation again. Please believe that had I known you..." He falters suddenly realising he didn't know how to finish the sentence. He didn't want to pry or make matters worse. "What I mean to say is that I am so very sorry and I will never ever do that again"

Sherlock looks down at the table. He hears the words and he believes John means them, he really does. He looks up cautiously. "I know John that you would not ever intentionally hurt me. I'm sorry I've made you feel this way. It was never my intention. Like you say I'm a drama queen" He tries to laugh but it comes out all wrong. It sounds so very false.

John watches Sherlock and when he hear him try to laugh he feels his heart break a little more. Without thinking he leans forward and grasps Sherlock's hand. He ignores the jump from Sherlock and carries on. "Whatever may have happened or you might be worried about....It does not make you a drama queen and it's not your fault. Do you hear me? Any fault of any kind from last night is all mine Sherlock, All mine."

 

Sherlock looks sadly up at John. He sees the worry and care etched obviously in his face. He never meant to make him feel this way, never. Why must he always ruin things? Why does his lack of understanding always trip him up. He needs to fix this. He needs to stop it from escalating. He doesn’t want to tie John to him or have him feeling he’s some delicate creature he’s got to be careful around. He wants John to be himself and for them to be free and easy with each other like they always have been. He steels himself but stops short of his fake smile as that obviously no longer works with John.

“Thank you John. That means a lot, it really does. I was a bit burnt out last night was all. I hadn’t slept properly in days and you just threw me was all. I’m fine. I promise you.” He takes his free hand and places it on Johns and gives them a squeeze as if trying to prove he’s fine with it all. Fine with John, Fine with human contact .

John looks unsure for a moment but takes the little squeeze of his hand to be reassuring. Sherlock does look more relaxed…”If you’re sure” he says a little hesitantly.

“Positive” replies Sherlock.

“Well, ok, Good.” John smiles and removes his hands from the table and gets up. Now is not the time to mention the other thing He can’t trust himself right now. If he’s made too much of this maybe he misheard or misunderstood. He doesn’t think he can bear more awkward conversations today.

Sherlock stands. “I’ve got things to finish up but then I said we’d go look at Golton Manor after lunch. Shouldn’t take long”

“Oh I’d forgotten about that. Right I’ll be back about one then” He smiled at Sherlock, grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.

Sherlock watched him go. He waited until the front door closed and then he sagged. He seemed to just crumble in on himself. He felt like he was going to fall. His breathing started to rush and he couldn’t control it. Was he panicing? Oh God he was panicing. He sat back down in the kitchen chair and dropped his head between his knees. He counted his breaths and forced himself to slow down. He pictured calming things and tried to regain control. What was wrong with him? Where had that come from? He felt the nausea now washing over him. No. He would not let it control him. He sat up slowly and closed his eyes. He waited patiently and when he thought it had passed he stood up determinedly. Ok. Shower, dress, walk. Yes, that would do it.

When Sherlock entered the bathroom he saw Johns clothes discarded in a heap on the floor. He was going to ignore them as usual but he saw the end of a napkin sticking out a pocket and bent to look at it. It had a girl’s name and phone number written in eyeliner. He stared for a moment before pulling it from the pocket enough so that John could not miss it when he ever decided to tidy his stuff up. It was better this way. Much better. He’d be happy if John was happy. All Sherlock could ever bring him was sadness and he couldn’t bear to do it. If this morning has proved anything it reinforced Sherlock’s conviction that he was broken, and who wanted broken when they could have normal?


	2. The truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John starts to see through Sherlocks insecurities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still an angst filled thing but this has turned into a real favourite. So please be kind. I love your comments. (Also bear with horrible mistakes I'm having to use wordpad - ugh!)

That night Sherlock waited patiently for John to go to bed. He stood at the window, violin in hand, playing softly. The afternoon had been almost like normal. The awkwardness that they had both feared had seemed to have dissipated. Sherlock could tell that John had tried hard to act as he usually did. But he had seen the subtle tells, the moment when he had stepped away from Sherlock, leant further away than necessary, Sherlock had seen, and felt, every single little movement. 

Their evening had passed without incident and now Sherlock waited. John started to stretch and yawn. "Right that's me done for today. Don't stay up all night" he warned. He rises from his armchair walked sleepily off to the stairs. Sherlocks been waiting all day for this moment but now that it's here he's hesitant. He doesn't want to be discovered. He decides to wait another half hour to make sure Johns asleep. He continues to play soft, quiet tunes to pass the time. After 25 minutes he starts to put his violin carefully back into its case before propping it against the wall. He walks to the stairs and stands there looking up. This is a bad idea, he's sure of that. The pull of the comfort of John and a good nights sleep is too much to resist though and he climbs the stairs quietly. 

The bedroom door is ajar and the room dark. The only light is a small strip spilling in from the hallway. The light falls across the bed and Johns sleeping form. He's asleep on his back with the sheet pulled over his lower half only. Sherlocks head cocks to the side as he looks fondly at John. Yes he's snoring slightly but it only endears him more to Sherlock. He reaches out and turns off the hallway light before squeezing through the gap in the door. He makes his way round to the other side of the and slips his shoes off. He then climbs, still dressed onto the bed next to John. He moves slowly and gracefully ever mindful of waking the other man. Sherlock stretches out along the side of John and slowly, bit by bit, scooches closer and closer until he's moulded himself to Johns side. He rests his face into Johns neck and breathes in the familiar, comforting smell. He rests and lets his body relax. He rests there feeling completely at ease and is as if this is where he was always meant to be. He doesn't mean to fall asleep. His plan was just to lay there in a calm comforting embrace and let his mind relax, because that was what John was to him. He was his anchor in the storm that was his own mind. He guided him and held him firmly in place. He comforted him with his familiarity and he helped him to make sense of the world when it was a complete puzzle to him. It all relaxed his mind so much that he drifted off into a deep, dreamless, peaceful sleep.

John awoke the next morning with a wide yawn. It being the weekend there was no alarm clock to wake him from his slumber and he could see from the window that he'd slept late. He smiled sleepily and then he really woke up. His eyes darted down and his breath caught in his throat. Sherlock was curled around him. Sherlock was curled around him! He didn't move, He didn't even dare breathe. He stayed statue still until he realised he had been holding his breath. He took a few deep calming breaths and tried to think clearly. he had definitely gone to sleep by himself, definitely. He'd of remembered this! His eyes darted right. Sherlock was curled into him like a dog. A big, long, thin dog but a dog all the same. His right leg was crooked over Johns own and an arm was thrown over Johns chest. Johns eyes moved to Sherlock's face and he felt his heart melt. Sherlock was fast asleep. It was easy to see that. His eyelids were flickering slightly and he was smiling slightly but most of all he looked peaceful. John knew that Sherlock had been struggling lately and sleeping and eating had suffered as they always did. But now, he looked truly peaceful for the first time in weeks. John smiled faintly. A small glimmer of understanding was starting to worm its way into his mind. He thought he saw the light finally shining the darkness that usually shrouded his friend. He laid and arm tenderly across Sherlocks and closed his eyes. He was not going to move. He would either fall asleep or he'd fake it but he would not move and he would not disturb Sherlock because, he thought, he was beginning to see the truth.


	3. Stupid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John learns more

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still wonderfully angst ridden

When Sherlock awoke he lay there peacefully, eyes shut, warm and comfortable. He hadn't slept so well in a long time. The sunlight from the window lay across his warm and he realised it must be hours later than he usually woke. It was then that his mind finally snapped into work and his breath caught. He was in Johns room, he was still curled up with John. His heart started to hammer and his whole body stiffened. He squeezed his eyes tight shut and balled his hands up. He was not going to panic, he was not going to panic. His breathing was getting faster and faster, he was sweating and his stomach was churning. "No, no, no." He hadn't meant to say it out loud but it had just...happened. 'Calm yourself down..Now!' he thought to himself. Slowly he regained control enough to think straight. Ignoring the nauceous feeling now creeping over him he lay very still and tried to relax his body. Johns breathing was even and steady, He was still asleep! Sherlock slid himself, as gently as he could manage, out of Johns bed. He stood and looked down at his sleeping friend. He smiled gently at the peaceful image before giving himself a mental kick 'Move idiot, move!' He left quickly and quietly being careful to leave the door ajar as it had been left the night before. He went to the bathroom and set the shower running, still smiling to himself. 

John waited until he heard the noise of the shower before opening one eye to check Sherlock was gone. He thought he'd better wait a little longer before getting up to make it look convincing. He lay there thinking about it all. Should he mention anything to Sherlock? He tried to run through conversations in his head but they were all more hideously awkward than the last. He frowned to himself. No, He'd wait and follow Sherlocks lead. If Sherlock said anything he'd have the conversation, if not he'd leave it for now. Happy with his decision he got up and started to rummage around for clean clothes. When he heard Sherlock leave the bathroom he went to shower. 

When John was showered and dressed he went to the kitchen to find a cup of tea next to some toast. There was a note underneath.

Out. Possible case.  
SH

John turned the paper over but that was it. He was a bit annoyed. Why hadn't he waited for him? Asked him to go with him. He sat down grumpily and slurped the tea burning his tongue. He was so busy swearing at the drink that he didn't hear the door open behind him.

"Outwitted by a cup of tea? Oh dear, standards are slipping"

John whirled round with his tongue still hanging out to face Mycroft. "D'you never knock?"

"Actually I did" Mycroft smiled. "You were too busy taking umbrage with your breakfast to hear"

John flushed slightly. It was probably true. He gestured to a seat "Tea?" 

"Please" said Mycroft sitting. "Where is my brother?"

"Oh he's out. Possible case" John stayed vague hoping it seemed like he knew all about it rather than feeling than some pet left at home, sitting patiently by the door.

"He was supposed to be in" Mycroft sighed "I suppose you will do"

"Oh thank you" said John sarcastically turning to make another cup of tea.

"It's nothing personal but Sherlock is supposed to be.....running some small errands for me" He pulled out a large envelope of papers and put them on the table "Can you make sure he gets this? Do not let it out of your sight" There was a commanding tone to his voice that John really did not appreciate but he let it pass. "How is my brother these days?"

"Fine" John answered automatically. He was still annoyed about being bossed about. When he turned to pick up the kettle he noticed Mycroft looked......could that really be concern? He turned back feeling a bit guilty "He seems to be doing well lately. He's even sleeping through the night." As soon as he said it he knew he'd made a mistake. How would he know that unless....He turned around to announce, as it seemed he always was, that he wasn't gay. Mycroft's head was bowed and his eyes were closed. 

"Mycroft.." John said quietly 

There was a long pause. "He told you then? I am surprised, but not that it was you he told. I don't see how else he'd get any peace. Thank you for that"

John was stunned. He had never heard Mycroft talk of Sherlock so tenderly and he'd certainly never thanked him before. 

"How did it come about?" Mycroft looked up "I can't imagine the two of you in the morgue and the conversation suddenly turning to.............well"

John tried to think quickly but his mind felt foggy. He should confess he really knew nothing but he was desperate to know something, anything. "I, um, I got drunk one night. I was messing around and pinned him to the floor and....yer" He swallowed nervously. It was technically the truth but he still felt like he'd just crossed a line. 

Mycroft nodded his head silently. "I think I'll miss the tea" He looked suddenly weary as he stood from the table. "I think" He paused "You are possibly the only person he trusts. Do not...abuse that John. It'll never be offered twice" He turned and left without another word. 

John stood there staring at the spot where Mycroft had sat. What had he done? Would Mycroft tell Sherlock? He sank into the kitchen chair and put his face in his hands. He had been really, really stupid again.


	4. comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still building. I have an idea where I'm going. Let me know your thoughts :)

Sherlock didn't return until the evening and John was pleased. It gave him the time he needed to clear his head and try his hardest to act normally. He listened when Sherlock told him about the case, smiled and joked. As the evening went on he could almost convince himself that everything was as it always had been. That's when the idea first came to him, It was so simple and yet so brilliant. He smiled to himself, He felt happy with his decision and knew it was the right thing to do. He may not be able to talk to Sherlock yet but he could do this little thing for him. 

John yawned. "Bed. I'm knackered" He yawned again and made his way to his room. He took his clothes off and was about to get into bed when he thought 'pajamas'. He rummaged through the cupboard. He didn't own anything remotely like pajamas. Why had he never bought pajamas! He chewed on his lip thoughtfully, Tonight was a night not to sleep naked. He pulled his dressing gown around himself and padded quietly back downstairs.

"Sherlock" he called. "Can I borrow those old grey joggers of yours?" 

Sherlock came to the bottom of the stairs and just stared at John as though he'd just announced an engagement to Mrs Hudson. 

"Can I?"

"You want to borrow my clothes?"

"No. Well yes, but just those grey joggers of yours"

Sherlock stared back silently

"I'm cold......" John trailed off realising how very lame this sounded. 

"O-k" Sherlock said slowly. He turned and went to his room. The noise of draws being scrapped open and clothing dumped out reached John. He waited in the hallway feeling more and more idiotic the longer he waited. Sherlock finally reappeared with the joggers on hand. He handed them to John. "You're too short" he said a bit harsher than he intended.

"Thank you" said John snatching the joggers from Sherlock and marching back to his own room. He pulled them on and pulled a face when he realised he was too short for them, They trailed past his feet. He rolled them up a little and smiled, This might work. Of course Sherlock might see right through him but it seemed to be a risk worth taking. He felt like he had betrayed Sherlock earlier and he couldn't apologise without bringing the other matter up. This would have to do for now. He switched the bedroom light off and pushed the door open. He climbed onto the bed and pulled the sheet loosely across him. He lay as still as he could with his eyes shut and he waited.

Sherlock had retreated to the living room after the meeting at the bottom of the stairs. Obviously John wouldn't borrow his clothes because he was cold. There was something going on and he didn't know what it was and that bothered him. He wouldn't ask because then John would know it bothered him and, more than anything, he wanted to figure it out himself. For the next 30 minutes he ran through theories in his head. They became wilder and stranger as time went on. When he considered that John was trying to collect his DNA he knew it was time to stop. He walked to the bottom of the stairs looking up. John had left his door open, he didn't usually. Only when he was drunk or too tired to bother did the door stay open. Sherlock climbed the stairs slowly. He paused at the open door and peered into the darkness. John was asleep on the bed wearing the borrowed clothing. Sherlock had to suppress a little laugh when he saw how John had rolled the trousers up to fit. It was such an innocent thing to do but seeing John wearing his old beloved joggers with the cuffs rolled up made him look so young and....sweet. He didn't intend to stay all night, he really didn't. He's stay for an hour or so and leave early. He had managed this morning after all.....

Sherlock crawled, still fully clothed, onto the bed. He lowered himself slowly. John lay his front with his face pointing towards the window. Sherlock tucked himself up tight to the shape of John whilst barely touching him. As he relaxed he nudged his face into the space between Johns shoulder and neck. He gave a happy sigh, closed his eyes and was asleep within minutes.

Through this all John had lain there awake. He didn't move or make any show of consciousness. He had felt the bed move lightly and felt the nearness of Sherlock. He'd been surprised at the small space left between them. Even with himself supposedly asleep there was a nervousness to Sherlock. Horrible, terrible, thoughts of what may have happened to the other man started to swirl in his mind. He was horrified to find silent tears rolling down his cheek to the pillow. He couldn't do anything to stop them. He lay still and he waited to calm down and to sleep.


	5. Mutual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock find routine in their lives benefits them both

The next morning Sherlock awoke first. It was early, judging by the dim light, yet he felt well rested and content. He looked happily at the sleeping body next to him. John had barely moved overnight. Sherlock lay there watching his gentle, easy breathing. He reached out, unthinking, and pushed a stray bit of hair that was sticking up. He smiled to himself before realising he was there in Johns bed and fully dressed. He gave a sad little sigh and slunk carefully off of the bed. He pulled the sheet carefully over John to keep him warm and crept out heading for his own room. 

John woke several hours later. He yawned and rubbed at his face before rolling onto his back. His foot tangled in the other leg of the joggers and he blinked for a second while he tried to remember why he was wearing them. He looked quickly to his left. Sherlock was gone. Had he stayed at all? He rolled his head back and lay looking at the ceiling. He wasn't sure what to do or say anymore. Would his silence make things better? or maybe worse? The questions went round and round until he gave a sigh and sat up shaking his head. He would take his cue from Sherlock again. If he started to talk to him he would talk back, otherwise he'd stay quiet again. Whatever he did, he couldn't risk making things worse not now he knew....Well he wasn't sure what he knew but it wasn't good. 

As the day wore on John saw nothing to suggest that Sherlock was going to say anything. They went their day as normal. John read the paper and only looked up when the sounds of explosions from the kitchen became loud enough to worry about. Sherlock seemed happy, full of energy and in the mood to make things go bang. When the evening came John followed almost the exact same routine as the previous evening. 

Sure enough as he lay there in bed faking sleep, Sherlock crept in. He curled into Johns side and fell asleep quickly. The next morning he woke, rose and left Johns room. 

The days wore on, John and Sherlock kept to their pattern. They never spoke to each other about any of it. Days became weeks. Sherlock never mentioned it and so John stuck to his plan, he said nothing. It had become an unspoken understanding. John was convinced Sherlock knew what he was doing. How could he not? He was Sherlock Holmes. He seemed to accept Johns feeble excuses for leaving his door open, wearing Sherlocks joggers and always going to bed before Sherlock. John didn't care, he had fallen easily into their unusual routine. It now worried him if Sherlock took longer than usual to come to bed or if there was any change at all. He found himself laying there waiting impatiently each night. Most curiously of all he was unable to sleep now until Sherlock lay next to him. He couldn't relax fully until he knew Sherlock was there, safe and asleep. He had started this because of Sherlock but now he found he needed him just as much.


	6. Chips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John helps Sherlock without even trying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this chapter. Was written almost entirely separately. If you don't like it....Don't tell me because I love it.
> 
> ......And I really want chips!

Sherlock sat on the floor with his legs kicked out and his hands on his knees. There were papers scattered all around him. Crime scene photos, detailed drawings, maps, scraps of paper with indecipherable scribbles and mugshots. They were all spread across the living room floor nearly covering the entire carpet. BBC news 24 played quietly on the TV and both his and Johns laptops were streaming alternative news channels. A cold cup of tea and stale toast lay on the table exactly where John had left it that morning. 

The door banged open and John walked in carrying bags of shopping. He sighed when he saw the untouched food, disappointed but not very surprised. "You haven't moved have you?" 

"Mmm"

"Didn't drink your tea"

"Mmm"

"Do you want anything to eat?"

"Mmm....no"

John rolled his eyes and smiled. "I bought you chips"

"Ooh chips!" Sherlock looked round eagerly.

John laughed and carefully picked his way through the papers on the floor. He sat cross legged in the space between Sherlock's legs, it being the only clear space. He passed the chips over and just as Sherlock opened his mouth said "Yes, salt and vinegar". Sherlock smiled and started to happily pick at his chips. John sat and watched happily. "Find anything yet?" He gestured with a chip towards the papers. 

Sherlock chewed slowly on a chip "There's definitely a pattern, I can see it, I just can't pick it out" He sounded intrigued but not frustrated. 

He was enjoying this thought John and it made him smile a little more. 

"Stop grinning"

"I'm not grinning"

"Please, You look like a cheshire cat" Sherlock looked up with a smile.

John straightened out his face. "Better?"

"Not really....no" He started to laugh lightly

"Oh thanks" John laughed. "I'll just stick a bag over my head next time"

"Could be less........Say that again!"

"Say what?"

"What you just said! Say it again!"

"I'll stick a bag over my head.........." John said slowly

"You! You John Watson are brilliant!" Sherlock knocked his chips out the way and crawled across the floor sorting manically through the photos of the crime scene. "Got it!" He shouted making John jump. He let out a happy squeak and turned back to John. "Your phone, give me your phone!"

John rummaged in his jacket pocket and passed his phone over. He stayed quiet knowing that asking would get him nowhere at this point and just enjoying the look of joy on Sherlock's face. 

Sherlock sat up on his heels clutching the photo and dialled Lestrades number. "Gavin...What? Does it matter? Look at photo 14C. The bag in the corner, Look!......Because on the CCTV it showed him walking in with his hands in his pockets......No bag! It HAD to be there beforehand.......I know.......No.....It was John" He looked up at John with a smile "Because he can be quite brilliant" He stood and walked off to the kitchen talking to Lestrade. 

John sat there on the floor trying not to smile to himself. He felt so pleased by Sherlocks rare praise. It wasn't just because he had complimented him but that he'd shared that with someone else. Sherlock seemed to be a much happier, content person recently. He was never going to fit in, not in the conventional sense, but he was much more at ease with himself. 

Sherlock stalked back and forth through the kitchen dissecting the case with Lestrade. The wonderful sense of completion and victory made him feel wonderfully high. He loved the feeling. If he was honest with himself he lived for it. He dreamt of cases like this that could really test him....although this time, like so many others, John had been the key to unlock the small lock that led to the bigger picture. 

John. 

It was always John.


	7. Pajamas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlocks birthday signals major progress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit long winded but had to work backwards from where I wanted the chapter to end. As ever, comments aways welcome. :)

Nearly three months had passed since the night John had borrowed Sherlock's joggers and their unusual, but comfortable, pattern had formed. John didn't really think about it anymore, It was as much a part of his night time routine as was brushing his teeth. If he had stopped to think about it for long enough he would of admitted himself that he had grown to love the nights. He had forgotten how comforting it was to have someone in the bed all night with you, How nice it was to feel the another persons warmth near you, listen to their gentle breathing. Yes, He'd never considered that he would be comfortable with that other person being Sherlock Holmes but life had changed recently and only for the better. 

It was Mrs Hudsons doing really. She had bought in a tray with tea and cake and a small chocolate cake one morning. She had placed the tray gently on the kitchen table inbetween the two of them and stood back smiling. John had looked up, toast halfway to his mouth, with a bemused smile. "As lovely as it is Mrs Hudson I think it's a little early for cake"  
Sherlock rolled his eyes but said nothing. Mrs Hudson stood there with her hands clasped smiling broadly.

"Um" John looked back to Sherlock and then Mrs Hudson "What's happening here?" 

"It's Sherlocks birthday" She trilled happily.

"Mrs Hudson. You know very well I don't celebrate the random day I was born" He looked up and saw her face fall and added quickly "But I will have the cake. Hmm cake for breakfast, yum" He picked up the knife sticking out the jam jar to cut himself a slice and put in on Johns plate. 

"Why didn't you tell me it was your birthday?" asked John grinning and sliding the cake across to Sherlock.

Sherlock scowled before plastering on his best fake smile. "Chocolate. Excellent" He picked up a small bit and started to eat with exaggerated "Mmm" noises every now and then. John started to snigger. "Oh look! John doesn't have any!" He took Johns other slice of toast that he'd left leaning against his mug of tea and used it as a plate to hold a ridiculously large piece of cake. Mrs Hudson watched eagerly as John took the makeshift plate from a smug looking Sherlock. 

"Try it dear" she encouraged. John smiled and took a large bite of toast-cake. It was sickly sweet and kind of crumby. 

Sherlock let out a little, very uncharacteristic, giggle. "Great" John managed through a mouthful of icing.

"Oh good. I am pleased. So what birthday plans do you boys have?"

"Nothing Mrs.....Nothing I can tell you about" Sherlock said sounding suddenly cheerful. "Johns arranged a surprise for me. We're just waiting to get breakfast and go out aren't we John" He said with heavy emphasis on the 'aren't'. 

"What? Oh yes....Ah big surprise. Got to get started soon" John replied catching on and looking pointedly at Mrs Hudson.

"Oh how exciting! Right well I'll leave you to it. Have fun boys" She walked out of the flat humming happily to herself.

Sherlock and John looked at each other and at the sound of the door closing both starting laughing. 

"Yeuch" said Sherlock pushing the plate away

"I don't know what you're complaining about" John laughed "I got toast crumbs with mine!" 

Sherlock just laughed more.

"Seriously though. Why don't I know it's your birthday?"

"Because you are incredibly unobservant" Sherlock ventured

"Don't think you can distract me through insults. Why don't I know?" 

"Birthdays don't mean anything to me...or anyone else actually, It's just an excuse for made up traditions"

"But.....but.....birthdays Sherlock! Not even presents?"

"Nope"

"You don't get presents?"

"Who would be buying me presents?" Sherlock looked amused by Johns questioning as though he were a small child.

John puffed out his cheeks and cocked his head to the side looking thoughtful "......Mycroft?"

Sherlock just lifted an eyebrow

"Fair enough. Well today you're getting a birthday present"

"You don't have....." Sherlock started but was quickly cut off by John

"Not asking. Telling" 

 

***************************************

 

Six hours later John was beginning to see why you didn't buy Sherlock Holmes presents. What did you buy him? He'd thought something nice like a watch but it'd only be covered in unspeakable things a week later or lost. A new shirt? He didn't think he could afford Sherlock quality shirts and also it's probably never going to get worn. In desperation he started to wander through shops randomly looking for ideas. He was absently watching an elderly couple choosing slippers when it came to him. It was risky but things needed to progress this little bit. He bit his lip thinking hard before forcing himself to make a decision. He picked the ones he wanted and bought them along with a sheet of wrapping paper.

When John arrived home Sherlock was out. John sat the present in front of Sherlocks bedroom door. 

He spent the rest of the day waiting anxiously for Sherlock to come home. At twenty past ten he received a text that just said 'out'. And so John went to bed in the now well worn grey joggers. He lay there waiting patiently, as he now did every night, for Sherlock to join him. 

Just before midnight he heard the sound of soft footsteps on the stairs. He held his breath and forced himself to keep his eyes shut as Sherlock entered the room. He felt the bed dip gently as Sherlock clambered in next to him and scooched across until he was almost touching him. John waited for a count of two hundred and opened one eye slowly. Sherlock was scrunched up next to him, eyes closed, wearing a brand new pair of warm, black pajamas.


	8. A thoughtful gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlocks reaction and eventual realisation to Johns gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know your thoughts as usual. I am happy with where this is going if not my writing skill! I hope somebody other than me enjoys this :)

Sherlock woke early. He had stayed in the same position overnight, curled up and fitting neatly into the side of Johns body. He was warm and comfortable, the new pajamas being soft but not heavy enough to make him overheat in the night. He smiled to himself. It had really been a very thoughtful gift from John and he had found himself being pleasantly surprised by his friend again. One of the things he most admired in John was his compassion. Where he himself could so easily miss the little things that came from being in tune with human nature, John would always see them. 

 

His first thought when he had opened the birthday gift had been one of panic. It was easy to pretend that neither of them knew what was going on when they refused to talk about it and never left or entered the bedroom together. Yes he knew that John often faked sleep, anyone could have seen that. But the mere fact that he did that and that he would fall into a gentle restful sleep once Sherlock was comfortable nuzzled next to him was a comfort and so very telling. Sherlock knew he was doing it for him. He knew it had been uncomfortable for John and that just like Sherlock he had needed time to adjust. But standing there holding a pair of pajamas had made everything blur in his mind. He could not see the gift as coincidence. It was a very clear message. It may as well have come with a gift card saying 'Sherlock, I know'. 

Sherlock had stood outside of his bedroom holding the present trying to decide on Johns meaning and intentions. The panic was threatening to take him over as it had done before. Was he expected to go to bed with John? Did he want him in the bed? Was he supposed to acknowledge the present? What if John wanted more from him? What if...The last thought was blocked by a wave of intense nausea that rushed over Sherlock. He had barely made the bathroom sink before vomiting loudly. He clutched the sink as he retched over and over, his stomach convulsing. What had he done? He'd ruined everything! How could they go on now? Sherlock had pushed the situation and now....now. He retched again but nothing came up. He let the tap run before standing gingerly. He rinsed his mouth with water over and over until the hideous taste was mostly gone. He sank to the floor and clutched his head in his hands. He tried to breathe evenly, scared that his short breaths would bring the vomiting back on. He didn't know what to do. It was overwhelming. There was too much churning around his head vying for his attention. He could feel the pressure building and knew that he was simply going to shut down soon. He couldn't deal with this, he wouldn't. He ran his fingers through his hair and stared intently at his toes. He shifted as his belt dug into his torso uncomfortably. He absently moved a hand to rub at the sore spot. It was tender to the touch today. He pulled his shirt from his trousers to check how bad it looked. Ever since he had been sleeping in his clothes he would wake with a mark where his belt had dug into him overnight. It had been getting worse and worse but he'd never considered stopping to take it off, that would seem too much like changing for bed with John. At this thought he gave a small nauseous hiccup. He put the back of his hand to his mouth and breathed deeply, shutting his eyes. Changing for bed...Changing for bed with...Changing....Oh. Oh. His eyes snapped open and he moved both hands to his torso. Of course. He had underestimated John Watson yet again. This wasn't anything other than a small kind gesture from a small kind man. If he knew Sherlock was there every night he knew he slept in his clothes. He knew Sherlock slept on the bedding and probably got cold. He knew sleeping in your clothes was never going to be overly comfortable. He knew not to talk about the situation and so he'd done this, for the very same reason he now wore a pair of overly long jogging bottoms to bed every night.

Sherlock had stood slightly unsteadily. He walked back to where he had dropped the pajamas. He picked them up gently and ran a hand over them. He felt so foolish for panicing now. How could he have possibly have doubted John who had been nothing short of amazingly patient recently. He looked tenderly at the pajamas again. He looked up at the ceiling as though he could see straight through to Johns room. Yes, This was ok.

He cleaned himself up and changed into the new pajamas smiling as he realised John had even thought to get a longer pair of bottoms. He walked up and down experimentally in them. If anybody had asked he would of scoffed at the thought of pajamas declaring them for old men only. They were however extremely comfortable and didn't look quite as silly as initially thought. 

He padded barefoot up the stairs pausing outside the other mans bedroom longer than he usually would. He bounced lightly on the balls of his feet nervously. John was probably 'fake asleep' on the bed as usual. Was he as anxious as he was? Well, he probably hadn't vomited in the bathroom at least. This thought made him feel braver and he pushed the door open and crept in quietly.


	9. "I've got you"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All my clothes have disappeared"
> 
> John jutted his chin out rolled his eyes "They haven't disappeared Sherlock. They are in a massive heap NEXT to the laundry basket in the bathroom aren't they"?
> 
> Sherlock looked at John as though he were some particularly dim witted child "Those are dirty John. All my clean clothes have disappeared"
> 
> John opened his mouth and then stopped. Did he really have to explain this? "You do know" He started slowly "That clean clothes become clean clothes again once they're washed"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sounds a bit fluffy but it fits perfectly

Mrs Hudson was away visiting a friend in Yorkshire. She had been gone for one week when Sherlock had walked into the kitchen wearing trousers and...

"Is that my jumper?" John asked with an amused look

"Of course it's yours. I would never own anything this.." He wrinkled up his face "....hideous"

John snorted loudly "So why are you wearing it?"

"All my clothes have disappeared"

John jutted his chin out rolled his eyes "They haven't disappeared Sherlock. They are in a massive heap NEXT to the laundry basket in the bathroom aren't they"?

Sherlock looked at John as though he were some particularly dim witted child "Those are dirty John. All my clean clothes have disappeared"

John opened his mouth and then stopped. Did he really have to explain this? "You do know" He started slowly "That clean clothes become clean clothes again once they're washed"

Sherlock gave John the most scathing look he could "I know that. But Mrs Hudson won't be back for days! By then all I'll have left is my coat and scarf"

John choked a little on his mouthful of tea. Sherlock could sometimes come out with comments that were so innocent to him but.....Good God. The thought of him walking round naked save for his coat and scarf. John coughed again "Went down the wrong way" he croaked when he saw Sherlock watching him carefully. He knew that look well and didn't like where this was going "So Mrs Hudson has always done all your laundry?" He asked quickly trying to move away from the mental image of Sherlock in just.........No!

Sherlock didn't reply straight away. He sat watching John. Why had he caused that reaction? He didn't see anything deeply funny or shocking in what he'd said but there was definitely the start of a deep red blush on Johns neck. 

"Sherlock?" John said quietly

"What?" Sherlock looked up surprised. 

"You went very quiet and starey"

"Starey?"

John coughed yet again and looked down "You know what I mean. Your laundry?" He prompted

"I assume so" Sherlock answered looking thoughtful. Before you came to live here it just used to disappear and arrive back all clean and ironed. 

John stared open mouthed. "Have you never done any laundry Sherlock?" 

"I told you, I don't need to"

"For heaven sake. Make a pile of everything that needs washing, I'll do it....If only to keep you out of my wardrobe" He sighed

"Really?" Sherlock looked up, clearly surprised

"Yes really" John smiled

Sherlock got up smiling happily but looking at John as though he'd just discovered something new about him. He stared, just a little too long, and walked slowly to the bathroom, deep in thought. He started to stuff his laundry into carrier bags. He squeezed out through the door and dropped the bags at Johns feet looking pleased with himself.

"Why is there so much!"

"Well you remember when I experimenting with the congealed blood samples? It started.."

"Stop! I do not want to know" John shuddered slightly and peered suspiciously into the bags. "You're the only man I know for whom laundry means you need to wear gloves, apron and goggles Sherlock"

"I shall take that as a compliment John"

John just laughed with a roll of his eyes.

 

 

Several hours later there were large piles of neat, clean, ironed laundry on Sherlock's bed. He gazed at them unable to control the urge to smile, his mouth betraying him and twitching up at the corners. 

"What?" asked John "Is amusing?"

"Well apparently you can take the man out of the army but......" He trailed off, grinning and gesturing at the piles of laundry.

"The fact that I can do laundry is not amazing. The fact that you can't isn't that shocking either"

"No, no, no. Look at the piles"

He flushed slightly "Being organised is just helpful"

There's being organised and then there's having a sock pile, underwear pile" He pointed to each as he spoke "black trouser pile, pajama pile, shirt pile and that vile short sleeved shirt I wore for that disguise pile"

John huffed and stomped out the room calling back over his shoulder "Do your own sodding laundry next time!"

"Don't need to! I've got you!" Sherlock shouted back.

John stopped, his hand on the front door. The smile crept across his face slowly. He shook his head. He stared at the little dent in the door where Sherlock had once hurled a mug in frustration. He ran his fingers over the broken, splintered mess. "Yes, you've got me" he said quietly

Sherlock stood just behind John unnoticed. He watched his fingers trace the dent gently. He took a deep breath "I know"


	10. "Who's Greg?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As he drew nearer he heard an awful noise, The sort a wounded animal would make. A high pitched whimpering sound. It cut through the night air clearly conveying not only pain, but fear.

Johns breath caught in his throat at Sherlock's words. He exhaled deeply and turned slowly around. He blinked. Sherlock was gone. He looked round the living room but it was empty and the flat seemed suddenly silent. He wandered into the kitchen "Sherlock?" It too was empty and silent. He wandered through the flat calling out softly. Silence was all that answered him. He paused outside Sherlock's bedroom, hand raised to the door. He had never really been in the room and certainly never without permission or Sherlock being there. It felt wrong, it felt like a violation of privacy and trust, and yet..."Sher?"

The door swung open to reveal an empty room and an open window. "For Christ sake" He sighed and ran a hand over his face. The window? He'd gone out a first floor window rather than talk to him. This was getting ridiculous. The was dangerous. He was going to have to talk to him no matter how uncomfortable for either of them. How much longer before something terrible happened? He would wait for Sherlock to return from wherever he'd run to and talk to him. He took a steadying breath and nodded. God it sounded so easy when he thought about it. Then why did he feel so sick all of a sudden.

 

John woke with a terrible ache in his back. He looked up, squinting. 08.47am. He'd slept on the sofa. Why had he slept on the sofa at his age? He stood and groaned at the ache in his muscles and then remembered. He checked the flat quickly but it was exactly as it had been when he'd fallen asleep. Still empty, still no Sherlock. He started to pace the carpet in the living room, half annoyed and half worried. How long did he leave it before he went to full panic mode? When would he be forced to call Mycroft? He chewed his lip hard and shook his head. Things would have to be bad, Sherlock would never forgive him. He turned to pace again but was interrupted by his phone. He looked round and found it wedged behind a sofa cushion. He tugged it out and answered it quickly. 

"Hello?"

"John, It's Greg. Can you come now. It's Sherlock"

"What's happened? What's wrong?" Horrific images started to fill Johns mind. Sherlock's body washed up with the rubbish from the Thames. His pale lifeless body being found in some dark, depressing druggies house. His body after he had fallen from a window...

"He's okay...we think. But I think you need to get here...now"

Johns mind snapped back to attention. He was already pulling on a shoe with one hand whilst clutching the phone to his ear with the other." Where? Where are you?"

"There's a car on the way...and just hurry...please"

John hung up the call, pocketing his phone. He spun round as he looked for his keys, swearing loudly. "Where the fuck are my keys!" He sees them on the kitchen table and grabs them and his coat as he rushes out the front door slamming it behind him. His heart pounds as he rushes into the street. A car honks at him and he sees Sally Donovan in a plain car looking grumpy.

"Sally?" He said questioningly as he approached the car

"Yes. Apparently I'm a sodding taxi driver these days. Get in"

He got quickly into the car, falling back into the seat as Donovan accelerated away. "What's going on?" He asked as he hastily did his seatbelt. 

A cruel smile crossed her face. "Freaks finally flipped. He's gone completely mental"

Johns hands curled into tight fists in his lap "He's not a freak" He said in a low voice

"No?" She sneered. "He got stabbed and when the paramedics took his shirt off to check the wound he knocked him out"

"Oh shit" John groaned

"The next one nearly got bitten" She smiled, obviously enjoying herself

"Jesus.."

"The freak..." She giggled "...has freaked out" She put a hand to her mouth as she pulled up outside a crime scene that was surrounded by police cars, tape and ambulances

John jumped out, stopping only to yell through the window "He's not a freak you heartless, fucking, bitch!"

He didn't wait to see her reaction but ran toward the ambulance. As he drew nearer he heard an awful noise, The sort a wounded animal would make. A high pitched whimpering sound. It cut through the night air clearly conveying not only pain, but fear. 

He skidded to a halt by a paramedic and Lestrade. "That's my.....my Sherlock in there" he tried to explain as he went to step into the ambulance

The paramedic hastily pulled him back by his jacket. "I wouldn't mate, He's violent and aggressive. We would have sedated him but..."

"I wouldn't let them" Lestrade cut in. "John I think he's already high and with his history of......you know"

"No" John answered quickly. "He's not, I promise you he's not. Just let me try to deal with this... please"

"I can't let you go in there mate, he's still my patient" The paramedic said kindly shaking his head

"I'm a bloody Doctor" He shook his arm free "And he's my friend"

He climbed into the back of the ambulance. Supplies were strewn across the floor, equipment knocked over. Barely noticeable in the mess and chaos was Sherlock. He was in a corner behind the stretcher, curled into a tight ball. He was shirtless, shivering and bleeding. And, Oh God, the whining. It made Johns stomach turn and a lump caught in his throat. It was the saddest sound he had ever heard a human being make. He'd seen men who were scared, in fear of their life and dying but he's never heard a more pitiful sound. 

The dark mop of curls flopped over Sherlock's sweaty face. His arms were crossed, his fingers digging into the pale flesh of his arms. 

 

"Sherlock" John uttered softly

There was no sign of recognition from Sherlock. John didn't think he could even hear him.

He dropped to his knees and after a moments hesitation put his hands on the floor. He bent his head so he was level with Sherlock's. "Sherlock" He whispered.

The movement was barely noticeable but there was a small flinch in the arms.

"Sherlock, it's John. I'm here and I won't hurt you but I really need to look at that wound" He shuffled forward a few more inches. "I need you to move your legs. Can you do that?"

The awful heart breaking whimpering grew louder still but Sherlock's legs moved. They jerked down and quickly back up as though he was having to force himself to do it. Slowly, so very slowly, he uncurled his legs. 

John crept forward, keeping his movements slow and cautious. He narrated his every move, unsure of whether Sherlock could see him or not and terrified that a sudden movement may cause him to lash out or worse....

John tried his hardest to look and not touch but the angle made it hard. "I think it's just a light flesh wound. A few stitches should be enough. Will you let me do that? I can get you a painkiller too? But I won't do anything unless you say yes" He stayed low to the floor and waited.

The whining noise slowed down until it was almost a hum. "Yes" It was the barest of whispers.

"You can tell me to stop at any point and I will but no biting me ok?" he smiles

"yes"

John turns to look at the paramedic. "Can I get some ethilon and some sterile water please?"

The paramedic steps up and a hand jerks out and grabs Johns wrist tightly. He looks down to see Sherlock's long fingers curled tightly around his wrist. His eyes are still shut but the humming starts again.

"Sherlock. This man is just going to pass me a few things and then he's going to step out slowly and shut the doors, aren't you?" He looks at the paramedic meaningfully. 

"I'm just going" He says softly, sliding the supplies across the floor to John who smiles gratefully.

Cleaning and stitching takes an incredibly long amount of time, patience and skill. John manages to get his hand back and to touch Sherlock with the gentlest of touches but he never moves from his foetal position. The whining starts again when he stitches but John works as quickly as he dares. When he's finished he puts a small dressing over the wound and lays his head on the floor by Sherlock's.

"I'm all finished. What now? Hmm? I can take you to hospital where they'll all crowd round and try to sedate you or you can open your eyes and look at me"

Nothing happens for a very long time. John waits patiently thinking he may have to resort to some sedation soon when Sherlock's eyes flick open and those beautiful blue grey eyes stare back at him.

"Hey" He says with a little smile

The eyes blink back at him "Hey"

John swallows hard when he hears the one simple word. "You had me really scared there Sherlock. How about we get out of here okay? Let me take you home?" 

The eyes blink again "Okay"

John reaches out slowly to help Sherlock up. There's no flinching, pulling away or whining now but the blue grey eyes never drop their steady gaze.

John grabs the blanket from the stretcher and throws it around Sherlock's shoulders. "We're going to go outside, get into Greg's car and I'll take you home. If something bothers you, tell me! Deal?"

Sherlock stares back at him "Deal. Who's Greg though?"


	11. "No"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Do you want to-"
> 
> "No"
> 
> And that there was the extent of the conversation

John had taken Sherlock home that awful night and put him to bed like you would a child. He had laid him down gently, speaking to him in a soft comforting voice. He had gently but firmly given him water to drink and then tucked him into the bed tightly. He stroked a hand through the black curls he loved so much, letting his fingers rub soothingly along Sherlock's scalp. When he stood to leave a thin hand had grabbed at his wrist and held him tight. 

"Do you want to-"

"No"

And that was the extent of the conversation.

 

John had left to get changed after promising over and over that he'd return. He dressed into the grey joggers and padded quickly back to the bedroom, shivering slightly at the cold air on his chest. 

 

Sherlock watched as John, his John, walked back into the room wearing Sherlock's old jogging bottoms. It still made him smile to see them rolled up above the ankle, looking comically long on him. 

He was more grateful than he could articulate that Johns one attempt at a serious talk had been dealt with swiftly. He hadn't been pressed, cajoled, sighed at or anything else. John had nodded, smiled and left to get changed. 

He stared as John came back into the room, his eyes never leaving his friends face. He saw the little shiver and lifted the edge of the duvet, wordlessly. And John, marvelous, fantastic, brilliant John had simply slipped beneath the covers without so much as a raised eyebrow. 

 

John scooted across the mattress letting the duvet drop down over him enveloping him in warmth. He wasn't as surprised as he thought he would be. Sherlock had clung to him all the way home even as they struggled in and out of the police car. Now that he had made the leap toward human contact again, it seemed as if he wasn't going to give it up. 

The bed was warm and inviting and John felt exhausted after the night events. He yawned widely as he settled his head on the pillow facing toward his flat mate, his eyes starting to droop. "Night" He muttered. 

"Night" Sherlock muttered back just as quietly. He waited for John to close his eyes before letting himself relax and to sleep. 

They both slept all night not stirring once.

 

Unusually, John woke first feeling hot, clammy and slightly squashed. The reason was immediately obvious. The duvet had been replaced in the night with a Sherlock. His long limbs were wrapped round John, trapping him. He lay over the top of him like a heavy, slightly bony, blanket. HIs face was stuffed into the crook of Johns neck, his hot breath tickling slightly.

"Uh...Sher?"

"Hhmmnnn?"

"Could you...um...move a little bit"

"No"

"No?"

"No"

"Right. I'll stay here until my bladder gives out shall I?"

"Eugch!" Sherlock's sleepy face scrunched up. His arms lifted just enough so John could escape. 

 

John was in the washing his hands and hanging the towel back up when he heard Sherlock call from the bedroom.

"Come back?"

John smiled and made his way back into bed and snuggled up against the Sherlock blanket which enveloped him again.


	12. Chapter 12

John and Sherlock didn't know how to refer to their new arrangement so they simply avoided the topic. 

To Sherlock's mind they were simply an improvement on what they were before. They still kept their own room and space but always slept in Sherlock's room. John still rolled his eyes at Sherlock at least 3 times a day and he still ignored John on a regular basis. 

John had spent a great deal of time considering their new relationship, and that's definitely what it was to him. Sherlock had opened up to him in ways he never thought possible from the man who was usually so protective, so secretive when it came to his own feelings. They shared a bed, a flat, their whole lives. 

There had never been more than soft, gentle little kisses, a hand squeezed tightly when nothing was being said and a Sherlock shaped blanket every night. It had come as a surprise to John, who had been so careful and tentative in his movements for months now, that Sherlock had suddenly become so affectionate. If he stood making a cup of tea, Sherlock was hugging him, chin on John's shoulder. If he was stretched out on the sofa, Sherlock would squeeze into the small gap next to him and cuddle up like a cat. He couldn't even shower without Sherlock coming in to chat or brush his teeth. None of this mattered to John though. He was happier than he had been in a very long time and Sherlock, he, he was happier than John had ever known him.

 

They hadn't told anyone but you'd think there had been an ad taken in the paper. People now referred to them as a couple. There was grinning and, God help him, winking. Going on case now included John blushing furiously as Sherlock stood there rattling off his deductions whilst clutching Johns hand, their fingers intertwined. Donovan had the good grace to not make so much as a single snarky comment since the night John had shouted at her.

Lestrade had taken the two of them to the pub a week after 'that' night. After a very awkward ten minutes of everyone avoiding each others eyes and making small talk about the case Lestrade had exhaled loudly and placed his palms on the table. "You okay then?" He addressed Sherlock who just nodded in reply. "You okay John?" 

"Uh, yer...I'm great actually" He said with a smile and Sherlock's hand had rested over his on the table. 

Lestrade had looked, opened his mouth to say something and then very diplomatically asked "And you're both good?" 

"Yes" They'd answered in unison. They turned to look at each other and burst out laughing

"Christ. I'm not drunk enough for this" Lestrade laughed and left for more drinks.

 

Since then their life had settled. It wasn't calm or organised because it never would be, How could it be? They still got shot at on a fairly regular basis, They still got threatened by Mycroft, Mrs Hudson fussed and made tea, and they argued about laundry, the dishes and things that shouldn't be in the fridge. But through it all they were happy, with each other and with their life.


End file.
